CONTENT WARNING: Some pictured blood, mild sexual mentions, mental health + trauma discussion
- Some of the terms used in this chapter are used in a historical context, though today they would be deemed incorrect, inappropriate or offensive.
Áine
It's been two weeks since I gave birth to my little Róisín. She's been surprisingly peaceful, rarely kicking up a fuss- but tonight, she seems agitated about something. For now, she's sleeping, and for once, all three of us manage to get a few hours' sleep.
I wake up when Reynold starts stirring.
"It's been ages, you know."
"Ages since what?" He sounds a little flat-toned.
"Since..."
"Yes, because you've been recovering," he says, with something of a chuckle. "Are you sure you're up for it?"
It's not until I try to get out of bed that the soreness kicks backs in.
"Not just yet, then...oh, don't whine like that," he replies, stroking my cheek. "How about the next best thing?"
It's not usually like him to be so rough when we make out, but I'm not complaining. Still, I'm wondering if something is bothering him. He's been stirring all night, and seemed unusually irritated when Róisín's wailing woke him earlier.
Come to think it, Róisín was noisier than usual, and no amount of milk nor baby talk seemed to be calming her down.
Róisín's crying interrupts us again, and I quickly check on her. Her little face is red with tears. I gently put her face to my breast, but she just turns away. Maybe she's a little lonely?
"What's wrong, my angel? Are you tired? Or do you just want a cuddle?"
Neither. She's still screaming.
"Watcher, why won't she stop?!"
"Give her a break, Reynold, she's two weeks old. What's gotten into you?"
"Áine...I think there's a full moon coming."
"Aww, did you hear that, my little angel? There's a full moon- wait, what?"
"It's fine. I'll keep an eye on it. I'll ask Oskar if I can stay in the basement later," he replies. "I'll see if I can stop her crying for now."
I pass Róisín over to him, and her crying only seems to get worse until he puts the white moonstone in her tiny palm. Her fingers only just wrap around it. It seems the lunar magic is calming her a little, or at least what's left of it. Peculiar- the same magic that turns them is also what mellows them out. Come to think of it, it'd explain why the wolves outside were so noisy.
Her wailing isn't so bad for now, so I go and get myself something to nibble from the kitchen...though I don't know if I have the stomach for any more of Oskar's Winterfest cake.
Oskar
Róisín's arrival had been something special. Nebelstadt had been a town of the dead for goodness-knows how many years, and her birth seemed to be a light in a place of perpetual darkness. Violeta and I have been so used to that perpetual darkness for all of these years, and whilst the sunlight won't kill Violeta, I'm not so lucky.
Áine, Reynold and her daughter would soon likely leave, and head back to dreadful Henford. Part of me wanted to go with her. She may be a woman grown, but that doesn't mean she couldn't do with a father- someone to fill in for all of those lost years with her own sorry excuse for one. But what good was a father who was forced to stay indoors for most of the day?
The more I think about it, the more I realise that the freedom I thought I'd finally found here was no such thing. Here, I can go out whenever I please, and I've found a control over my bloodlust I wouldn't have found anywhere else. Yet if I ever did want to leave this place, I'd have to contend with it again. I'd have to spend all day and all night fighting off the urge to sink my fangs into the next unfortunate soul to cross my path. The passers-by who were lost, stayed the night and left in the morning would have to do. Not too short, not too long. Not long enough to me for end up pouncing on them and draining them dry, anyhow.
Every time I had a human visitor, I'd spend most of my time trying to ignore the thoughts that invaded my mind- often me killing them. I'd never act on them, but that didn't change how convincing they were. All this talk of control with Reynold...maybe I'm not the expert I like to think I am. Violeta always tells me that those thoughts aren't me, but then didn't I just tell Reynold he couldn't shave off parts of his identity for his comfort?
I hear her voice behind me.
"Is everything okay? Everyone seems awfully down today."
"When do you plan on leaving?"
"I'm sorry?"
"When are you leaving Nebelstadt?"
"I...I don't know. As soon as possible, I suppose. Reynold has to get back as soon as he's able. If Elias has to run the monastery for another week, I think he'd sit in the corner and cry. Is there a problem?"
Though I said I'd be honest with her, and that she even now knew about the roughly-fifty innocent victims from all those years ago- I somehow can't bring myself to tell her about those terrible thoughts. The few people who knew about them had thought me a lunatic. The only one who didn't, to no-one's surprise, was Violeta.
Having a long-term presence in the house had been almost pleasant. The two of them having magic in their blood meant I didn't get tempted to do any harm to them, and they'd both been wonderful guests. The chances of me meeting anyone else like them both was incredibly slim.
"Not at all, but should you need to return for whatever reason, my doors are always open to you. And you can write to me anytime."
"I get the feeling you don't want me to leave."
Goodness, she's making me sound so possessive...no, that's entirely how I sounded.
"It's not often I bond with anyone the way I did with you, and to some extent, with Reynold. It will be tough to see you go, but all three of you need to go and live your own lives- not to mention the darkness and the fog are probably a little depressing for mortals."
I notice tears forming in her eyes. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done, Oskar. If I hadn't had found you, I don't know what would have happened. I'd probably be-"
"You don't need to thank me for anything, Áine. I just did what I've been doing for years- taking in strangers and sending them on their way. And after I found out what happened, I was just doing what your father couldn't bring himself to do."
The poor thing bursts into tears, and I gently pull her into a hug.
I know I'll miss her, but I know that mortal life is painfully short. Whatever time these three have, I hope that they can enjoy life as much as possible. In the wake of the re-emerging witch-hunts, I don't know how possible that is, but Violeta and I can do our bit. When they come into Nebelstadt expecting to find witches hiding from them, they'll instead find vampires waiting for them. They were more scared of us than they were about the witches.
Reynold enters, with Róisín in his arms. He passes her to Áine, and asks me to stay in the basement overnight; apparently, he can sense a full moon on the horizon. Interesting. I don't think Áine has seen him as the wolf yet. Perhaps this will be a good time for the two to get acquainted in such a manner. That'd also explain Róisín's shrill yelling all night long, but at least we didn't have to worry about a mini werewolf tearing up the place.
Once I leave Reynold in the basement with some food and water, Áine offers me to hold Róisín again. At first, she's completely quiet, but it's not until I open my mouth that she starts her unholy wailing again. Am I really that scary?
* * *
Once the evening began to settle in, I noticed a definite change in Reynold's temper. I didn't take it personally, but I'd never seen him so snappy since he'd been here. I'd never seen Alistair quite this far in this transitional phase, but I remember his outbursts well. They were nothing like Reynold's- much worse. He never held back- not to me, or anyone else. Most stayed away from him. I didn't. I didn't back down to his rage, and I think it helped a little.
I noticed the glow beginning to envelope Reynold, and he seemed to be in some sort of pain, both physical and mental. I held him, despite him yelling at me to get away- in his words, 'as a warning, not a threat'; I knew he wouldn't do any harm to me- one, because he knew I wasn't a threat to him, and two, because he couldn't overpower me in a thousand years. The groaning turned to near-crying. It almost reminded me of when Áine was giving birth, only she was desperate to get it out, and Reynold was desperate to keep the wolf in. I dread to imagine what it must feel like. The change to my vampiric form is almost instant- a cloud of black, and suddenly I'm grey with claws. None of this.
Despite both our efforts, Lunvin's influence had overcome him, and I left the cage, quickly locking it behind me. He bit and clawed at the locks for a while, but after that, he seemed to calm down. I held my hand near the cage, and he sniffed at it curiously and paced away.
A few hours later, and we seem to be locked in some sort of staring contest. I don't think he's entirely convinced that I'm not a danger to him.
"Oskar? Is everything okay down there? I think I managed to get Róisín to sleep for a moment."
"Indeed. I think you might be intrigued to see the other side of your partner."
She gingerly makes her way down the ladder, and the moment she gets down, she lets out a loud gasp, not even noticing the blood all over the floor...Should really clean that up sometime.
"Reynold..."
His snarling at me fades into a sort of chirping in this throat, and he raises his head, sniffing the air with primal curiosity. His bright pupils widen like saucers. Whoever this person is, he knows they're no threat to him.
She steps forward, and Reynold raises a paw, his eyes completely fixed on hers.
"Beautiful creatures, aren't they? Beautiful and perplexing."
"I...I was expecting it- him- to be more...terrifying. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want to encounter him on a dark night in the woods, but I expected something far more monstrous."
So did I, before I ever saw a werewolf. If you ignore the claws and the fangs and piercing pupils, they look deceptively cuddly. It's surprising how soft werewolf fur is. There's a reason it used to sell for thousands in dubious markets.
He nuzzles against the bars, and I can't tell if it's a show of trust, or whether he's trying to get out.
"I don't know if you recognise my voice or not, or if you'll be aware of this tomorrow...but I love you, so much. I love everything about you, and I know that when the time comes, you'll tell Róisín how to cope with all of this. You're going to be an excellent father, and I know it."
Reynold sticks his claws through the bars, and a whiny sound escapes his throat.
Áine slowly moves her hand closer to the bars, and just as she touches the side of his claw, he pulls his hands back and paces into the corner.
"Werewolves are fickle things," I say to her, chuckling. "Do not worry, Áine. Reynold would never hurt you or your daughter. Werewolves still have subconscious knowledge of loved ones, not to mention you smell familiar to them. They're a little grumpy at times, but they won't hurt you. Lunvin's ire lurks in the back of their minds, ready to unleash it on anyone who tries to do harm to them or someone else."
She sits by the bars, and Reynold returns to her, tilting his head.
"All of those witchfinders killed by werewolves...I wonder if the human subconscious isn't so subconscious after all. I mean, if that werewolf, assuming it was Reynold, only targeted witchfinders, then he must be more aware of his 'human side' than I would have thought."
There weren't many werewolves left. I wouldn't be surprised if the Morgan family was the last living line of the Lunvinchenaîné in this continent- maybe even anywhere.
"They are full of secrets, even after so many attempts to study them- but I believe you're correct. Though it's likely it may have been Reynold...it has only been two years since Reynold last saw Alistair. Reynold tells me his sister is convinced they're dead, but Alistair was a powerful man. I won't rule out the fact that he may likely still be alive."
"I don't think I want to know how that would go," she responds. "I don't think either Reynold or Clem want to see their father again."
Reynold lies next to the bars, and his tail swishes a little. He keeps trying to get closer to his partner. I think he wants to protect her. She tells him she'd love to stay and chat, but she has to tend to their daughter. I'm sure she's having a fun screaming match with herself.
Violeta
Dor is a difficult concept to sum up to people who aren't from my homeland. I suppose it is a wishful longing for someone, something, or someplace you care about deeply- and that's only scratching the surface of the word. It can also be the heart-wrenching desperation for such a thing, person, or place- a painful yearning for a return to familiar, nostalgic comforts. For me, that was my parents' home for many years. Every other person that eventually gave me comfort ended up sinking its jaws into me later on in some way or another. The beauty of dor became lost on me. What good was nostalgia or longing for old comforts when they were all tarnished? Now, I didn't need it. I had a home, both in my best friend and in Nebelstadt. Over two-hundred years of searching for comfort and I'd found it in a remote town covered in dense fog and a talkative man whose cooking was enough to even put off the local rats.
Every night when I'm not working on a painting, I stroll through Nebelstadt, and its beauty is never lost on me. For me, the familiarity of the place is my biggest comfort. I know what to expect from my paintings, from this town, and from Oskar. It isn't like Eugen, or any of the other people who'd hidden their true vile selves under a veil of false kindness.
What I don't expect, however, is for Áine to call my name from across the road. What could she possibly want?
"Evening...or afternoon, or...hello, Áine. I hope you and your child are doing well."
"Well enough, but I had something I wanted to ask you about."
"I see. Which is?"
"It's about Oskar. I'm going to be leaving in a few days and, well, he seemed unusually down about it. I guess I'm a little...worried?"
I knew he wouldn't deal well with Áine eventually leaving- and this time, it was nothing to do with any possible similarity between her and Ilse.
"There is only so much I can tell you, Áine- most of it isn't mine to tell. All I can really say is that sometimes, he struggles with the thought of being alone for a few different reasons. You don't need to worry. I appreciate your concern, but things are as 'in control' as we can get them."
She nods, and I notice a smile appear on her face. "I know we don't get along spectacularly, Violeta, but I do appreciate how much you look after him. It means a lot to me, and it means a lot that you show so much kindness to a friend. Sometimes I feel like loyalty is a dying concept."
Loyalty was all either of us had. Most of our old friends had been killed, and even if by some miracle we were broken apart by something- who else would accept us for who we were?
I sometimes dream of going to new places again, maybe getting a few pieces in galleries, possibly even an exhibition. The only trouble is, as an immortal artist, my artworks will never surge in popularity or value because I can't die to make it happen. Not only that, but my own handle on my bloodlust is...poor, to say the least. It doesn't bother me, but I know it upsets Oskar. My morals are looser than his- always have been. I loved draining a witchfinder as much as the next vampire, but for me, if they were an adult and capable of trying to fight back somehow, they were fair game.
Oskar hasn't drank from an 'innocent' person in many, many years. When we'd both returned to Windenburg for a few years as creative tutors, that's when he told me of his 'uncontrollable' thoughts, so much as looking at another human and picturing himself in great detail draining them of every drop blood, right down to the taste of their blood and the sheer terror on their faces. For me, those thoughts were well within my control- a source of entertainment. The way he described them to me, they were a source of great discomfort.
Still, even bloodfruit will not sate you forever- and his 'mechanism' to fight the urge to drink blood when no witchfinders were around was to count bats to himself. The problem was, it was nearly impossible to get him to stop. In his mind, if he stopped, then he'd lose focus and someone would be killed because of it, even if no innocent humans were around. Sometimes he'd get into the hundreds before I'd manage to convince him that he wouldn't hurt anyone. What I've never understood is why. It wasn't guilt, and it wasn't a lack of acceptance. I don't know if I'll ever fully understand, but it doesn't matter. I will always be there for my closest friend, no matter what.
Reynold
It's been a long week. My muscles still ache from the full moon a few days ago. I recall waking up on the floor behind bars, with Oskar staring at me. Supposedly he'd sat there all night, resting, but he's rather daunting when he's not feignining some kind of emotion.
Áine had seen me as a wolf, and it horrified me to think about it...but both she and Oskar said nothing bad had come of it. All I did was watch over her and tried to reach out to her. It puts my mind at ease a little. It's a shame I can't be at the house all of the time with my partner and daughter, but it calms me to know I won't be a danger to either of them. I have to keep telling myself how far I've come since then, since Clem. That I'd never do that to someone I love ever again, and I think now I finally believe it. It did make the thought of Áine and Clem meeting up again a little off-putting, but what comes of that, comes of that.
I don't know if vampires can cry, but Oskar definitely seemed on the verge of something similar as we packed our bags and prepared the horses for the journey back to Henford. Even little Róisín said goodbye, in the form of being sick down his shoulder.
We both promise to keep in touch with him, and possibly find time to visit. We tell him to come to Henford sometime, though he insists he can't. Either way, I'm incredibly thankful for his hospitality towards all three of us. It's funny how much difference a complete stranger can make.
